


Blackout

by The_Iza



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: And he drinks too much but can you blame him, Edward be stalkin', Harry ain't got time for this, Harry is a bit of a ho, Harry likes his men older and blonde, M/M, Sparkly Vampire Coalition is gonna have a bad time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Iza/pseuds/The_Iza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Voldemort was dead, Harry just wanted to relax, go to a party or two, maybe flirt a little with some attractive people. Unfortunately, an assassination attempt gets him sent to Bumfuck, Nowhere. Now there's some pale asshole hitting on him and oh god he did not sign up for this nonsense.</p><p>Also can someone please tell him when they put letters in math? Because he didn't recall that bullshit in grade school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackout

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, how dare I start a new fic when I should be working on the other one??? But this one isn’t gonna be so long (like, the other is gonna go on forever I don’t even know) and I want to write some porn, dangit! I’m working on the next chapter for NA, so…shh. SHH.
> 
> Also I’ve been waiting for someone to write a HP/Twilight fic like this for a long time and all you assholes have been dropping the ball. So you have no-one to blame but yourselves.

 This, Harry thought, was a bunch of bullshit.

He did his best to glare a screaming toddler sitting in a nearby row into submission. It didn’t work, though he did get a dirty stare from the parents.

It was at times like these that Harry deeply regretted not letting Voldemort win the war. Whatever hellish torture that bastard would have put him through surely wouldn’t be as bad as _this_.

The overweight man in the seat next to him dropped his head on Harry’s shoulder, snoring audibly.

He still had seven more hours on the plane.

Harry quietly contemplated suicide.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry collapsed on the bed of his new bedroom face-first. He took back all the bad things he’d said about portkeys. His trauma from the graveyard back in fourth year? No, forget it. He was over it. He’d take twenty portkeys into certain doom if it meant he never had to deal with the ass-end of muggle humanity in an enclosed space thousands of feet in the air ever again.

And the babies.

Those screaming babies.

He shuddered.

He was getting himself sterilized the first chance he got.

 

* * *

 

 

Morning (well, mid-afternoon) arrived too quickly. Harry rolled himself out of bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He failed to give even the smallest fuck about his disheveled appearance.

He shoved his glasses onto his face and headed downstairs to the kitchen for coffee. That lovely plan was aborted seconds later as the realized there was…nothing in the kitchen.

Mother fuckers couldn’t even get him a furnished house?!

He stared in disbelief at the empty cabinets. Harry distinctly remembered asking Kingsley, the new Minister of Magic, if there was anything he needed to bring with him.

‘No,’ said Kingsley, that traitorous ball of douchebaggery, ‘Just your clothes will do.’

He did not end a war for this nonsense.

He supposed he should be glad there was had at least a few scatterings of furniture around, otherwise he’d probably have had to sleep on the damn floor last night.

Harry gave a deeply aggrieved sigh.

Alright then.

He could handle this.

He was tired, jet-lagged, in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, had no food or toilet paper, but he could handle this.

He squared his shoulders, slumped again after a few seconds, and tried not to whine like a pissed off puppy.

 

* * *

 

 

None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for those Death Eaters.

He had killed Voldemort, done his duty, blah blah blah.

People were pleased, he had a national holiday named after him and finally, _finally_ he could relax.

But no, apparently.

He had been enjoying a particularly delightful drink being served to him by an even more delightful (and appreciative) man at one of those Hey-Thanks-For-Saving-Our-Useless-Asses Party and contemplated his odds (high) of getting into the man’s pants when BLAM, Death Eaters.

The next few minutes had been a stressful mix of ‘save the people’ and ‘kill the assholes’ with a bit of ‘also don’t die maybe’ sprinkled in.

Aurors showed up eventually and sorted the whole mess out. Harry ended up with a nasty gash on his arm and was promptly carted to St. Mungo’s where a freaked out Kingsley was waiting for him.

So in the end, it was decided that it was too dangerous to remain until the remaining Death Eaters were rounded up. Harry could get behind that plan. He didn’t exactly enjoy assassination attempts, no matter what some tabloids were printing. And if he could get an all paid vacation to some tropical place out of the deal, then all the better.

Except, no.

When Kinglsey said ‘a secure place to hide out for a while’ he apparently didn’t mean ‘the sandy beaches of Australia’.

So here he was.

Oh boy.

Not even the good bit of America. Not, say, exciting NYC or lovely Florida. No.

Forks, Washington.

He was sure some other people could appreciate the green foliage, the trees, the…more trees. But as someone who spent a year on a camping trip from hell and grew up in a medieval castle surrounded by an impressive forest, he wasn’t pleased.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. He could suck up the ‘meh’ surroundings and catch up on his reading or something. His new house had a porch; he could probably read there and sip lemonade or rum or whatever it was that people drank on porches. Maybe he’d start a nice garden. There were a lot of possibilities for relaxing activities.

Sure, he _could_ do all those things, if he had the time.

But he wouldn’t.

Because he was going to _High School_.

And when he heard THAT bit of the plan, Harry spent a good amount of time raging at Kingsley and accusing him of being drunk while in office because WHAT.

“It would be suspicious to have a teenager not attend school, Harry. People would notice.”

And wasn’t that the biggest bunch of bullshit ever because oh sweet Merlin, where did Harry even START?

“Really? Because having one live by himself is _totally normal_ , right?! And it’s not like we could say I finished school early or I’m homeschooling myself or I GRADUATED YOU ASSHOLE!”

And of course Kingsley was all, “You’re being unreasonable. Blah blah calming drought blah blah trying ordeal with the assassination blah blah stress.” and Harry may have thrown something at Kingsley’s head at one point or five.

There was a lot of yelling involved. It was all a bit of a blur.

He had school the next day.

Harry was sure it was going to go _swimmingly_ , considering he stopped going to muggle school when he was eleven and never saw the point of catching up.

Ugh how was this his life.

 

* * *

 

 

The issue of food would have been easily fixed with a quick trip to the store, and Merlin knows there had to be one of those around here somewhere.

It might have helped a bit if he had, say, a _car_. Although even that would have been useless, what with that lack of a driver’s license.

Harry sighed.

This Save-The-Chosen-One plan didn’t seem very thought out.

Man, fuck what whole ‘try not to use magic if you can help it’ bullshit, where was his broom?

 

* * *

 

 

Harry was in a much better mood now that he wasn’t in any danger of starving. A broom and a disillusionment charm were the answer to all of life’s problems, it turned out.

Magic was just so handy, especially when you were underage and trying to buy your own weight in booze. A quick spell and suddenly the cashier thinks you’re a 50 year old woman. Good times.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry threw up rather spectacularly into the toilet.

Ok, probably he shouldn’t have drank _that_ much the night before school.

“Oh Merlin…” he mumbled, dragging himself to the sink and rinsing his mouth with beautifully chilly water. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at him from the mirror, set in a too-pale face. Oh good, he’d make a great impression on his first day.

As it turned out, a hangover would be the least of his problems.


End file.
